


10 Gangrel/Robin Prompts

by Gangrel (DatBaka)



Category: Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: 50 prompts, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DatBaka/pseuds/Gangrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was supposed to be 50 Gangrel/Robin prompts that ended up being 10 drabbles of the (mostly) platonic sort with a lot of regret and admiration on both character's parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 001. Threat (08/2013)

**Author's Note:**

> All 50 prompts can be found [here](http://madkinggangrel.tumblr.com/tagged/50%20prompts), if you're curious.

The king first laid eyes on her the day he finally managed to instigate war against Ylisse. She stood far from the commotion, watching the scene unfold in front of her with silence and patience. At the time, Gangrel paid no mind to her at all. He had reduced her existence to one of the pretty faces that would soon meet a gruesome end.

He wasn’t aware that, inside that little head of hers, she had already begun analyzing the situation and planning what to do once it turned ugly. The ignorant king simply sent Captain Orton to the front lines and returned to his castle, knowing full well that the commander would most likely die against Chrom’s best soldiers, but that man was more than happy to die for Plegia’s honor and as long as he could kill off a few Ylisseans.

_”M-Milord! Captain Orton has been defeated…!”_

                      ”Oh?” he _cackled_. “And how many Ylisseans met a messy end?”

                                     _"Th… there were no Ylissean deaths, sir!"_

… He remembered sentencing the messenger to death in a fit of rage and immediately planning the next step— the assassination of Emmeryn.

That failed too, though Emmeryn did die in the end. Seeing the tactician’s crestfallen face when Aversa sent her fleet of Pegasus Knights to their deaths brought a smile to his face, but he wasn’t truly content. That didn’t count as _his_ victory, after all.

While she directed her comrades with carefully planning, he sent his men in for a relentless assault. The only tactics he employed were ones anyone could use if they were given enough men. Up until now, his shoddy planning never failed him. He realized now that even his most dedicated soldiers could barely make a mark in their armor, hardened by the _useless_ steel of unity.

In the end, he wasn’t able to win against her once.

Now here Gangrel stood, basking in the mess he made. This was his final stand, and he would be facing them alone.

_"Good day, my little princeling! Still dreaming of your squashed sister?"_

And even with his carefully-planned death facing him, the king stood proudly on the field, smiling all the while.

 _Robin._ It was a name he would remember to his death.

It’s a shame. If only he had known what a threat she would turn out to be, then he could have at least bothered to learn her name earlier.


	2. 002. Empire (08/2013)

Give a man a kingdom, and he becomes a king.

Give a man the opportunity to have an empire, and he becomes a fool.

There was once a time where this fool thought of uniting Plegia, Ylisse, and Regna Ferox into one mighty empire. If they had a united army, nobody— not Valm or any other insufferable nation that threatened them with war— would be able to conquer them. This way, there was no threat to them or, more importantly, to the defenseless people that lived in those realms.

… But that dream was lost when he thought subjugation was the only way of uniting continents. The power went to his head and he was overthrown as a result. A new king came to power soon afterwards— surely, it was a fate Gangrel deserved. But, _yeesh_ , here he thought _he_ had been a bad king. Even with all his bad deeds combined, Gangrel could hardly hold a bone up to what Validar has done. Plegia was left in shambles, and while Gangrel entertained the thought of rebuilding it, he realized he hadn’t the right to. Killing Emmeryn, instigating war… he was part of the reason the realm fell apart in the first place.

Then he took one look at the Ylissean tactician—the living definition of impartiality—and for the first time since he “died”, he saw the tail of a dream that had crawled away so long ago. Perhaps a fool like him could rebuild Plegia if a woman like her was there to keep him in line.

“—How is the crown? How about my hair? My clothes? I refuse to let my subjects see me in anything less than my best!”

Stifling any laughter that threatened to escape her lips, Robin reached up to fix his ruff, “You look handsome as usual… if not a little on the gaudy side. Still, I’m positive your people will be thrilled to have their king back.”

He looks over her with eyes too gentle to be his. This was the woman that brought him back here, but she brought back more than just him and his will to live. Under his belt, he now held a partnership with Ylisse and Regna Ferox, something he wouldn’t have been able to attain if it wasn’t for her and the immense trust the kingdoms placed in her after the war. His wife’s name was one that would go down in history as the tactician that brought peace across the continent. Normally, he only took pride in himself, but he made an exception for her and Morgan too.

A united empire. If only he could take a swing at that one advisor that told him it was impossible. That guy’s probably dead now anyway.

“Heh. They’d be even more thrilled to hear about you.” He seized her hand, stopping her from fiddling with his clothes. Tilting his head downward, the revived king pressed his lips against the back of her unmarked hand— finally free from Grima’s symbol. “The Queen of Plegia—it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Gya ha ha!”

She chuckled in response, “Come on now, we’ll have time for this later. They’ve been waiting more than three years, you know.”

“Then I wouldn’t dream of making them wait anymore.” Gangrel released her from his grip and pushed past the drape to greet his kingdom once more.

_**“Good people of Plegia! Welcome! Welcome, one and all!”** _


	3. 003. Falter (08/2013)

The tactician graced her betrothed’s presence with a loving smile, “Ah. Gangrel. You’re late, for once.” Even after the engagement, he met her everyday by the clock. She paused to scoop up an armful of books, “Well, I don’t mind, but I was about to retire to my tent. You should too. We need to make several stops tomorrow.”

"…"

She began to flip through a book absent-mindedly. Normally, he would begin prattling on about his day or any thoughts that occurred to him about the past or the future—and it was almost customary for him to throw in at least one loving comment before the day was over. Yet there was nothing but eerie silence that evening. The tactician spent a good minute in this stifling quietude before she finally noticed the oddity in front of her. “Are you feeling alright? I have never seen you so quiet before.”

Perhaps the most unsettling thing was that there was a firm line where his usual smirk would be. The expression he took before her was, without a doubt, on a completely different spectrum from happiness. Around her, Gangrel usually adopted a jovial demeanor and only touched upon sadness whenever his mind wandered back into the past. The sadness presented to her that day was far beyond mere nostalgia.

"… I heard a little something from Chrom."

 _Chrom_. Another indication that something was wrong. Gangrel rarely addressed him with his given name. He must have been really wound up if he called him anything other than ‘princeling’, ‘His Grace’, or a variant of that.

"Oh? Pray tell."

"I know you’re Grima’s vessel and blah, blah, blah. I don’t give two turds about that." He tapped his foot impatiently— not at her, but at himself, as though he was rushing to get to the end of what he was saying. "I heard that you have to sacrifice yourself in order for that insufferable Fell Dragon to die for good."

"Oh."

"… _'Oh'_? That’s it?” He stepped towards her until he was towering over her like a living mountain of flesh.

“There could be another way. Chrom having the Exalted Falchion is a card that could come into play.”

That statement only seemed to aggravate Gangrel further, “Grgh… Robin, do you take me for a _fool_? _'Could'_ this, _'could'_ that. Don’t try to shove your half-hearted truths down my throat. I know you. Whether or not there is another approach, you’d gladly give your life away even if it was just to save _one_ measly life.”

She felt all the muscles in her body tense up at that. A response failed to come to mind—what could she say against the truth? Although she never dictated it out loud, the thought of sacrificing herself never left her mind.

"…Robin." He _growled_ , grabbing her arms with bruising desperation. “Don’t even THINK about it— _please_. You are the reason I live to see this day. You are the reason I choose to continue living. I plan to leave a better mark on this world with you. _I exist for you_.”

She has never seen him in such anguish before. And seeing the typically proud man begging to such ends left her guilt-ridden— and she wasn’t speaking about the mawkish kind he did when he wanted her to be his tactician.

"I…"

          What was one life for millions? When Grima rose again, how many more would die? Who would be the next vessel to be tormented with such a choice?

With those questions racing through her head, Robin, who answered the _world_ without hesitation, met his eyes for a moment before her gaze faltered.

That notion alone was enough to convey her message to him.

"Must this be the way it ends?" He croaked, the grip he kept on her arms loosening with each word. Up until now, she imagined only the Risen could have such vacant voices.

"…I’m sorry." And she truly was.

The king pulled her into his chest and rested his head atop of hers, “Bah. I can’t believe you. What right did you have to come into my life and tousle it about, only to leave a mess behind? …But I suppose it would be an even larger mess if I hadn’t met you in the first place.”

She mumbles another apology.

"Yeesh…" He sighed in an exasperated manner. "You’re getting my clothes all wet with your tears, you feeble schoolgirl." Insulting her at a time like this, how very like him not to know how to comfort someone. "Am _I_ not the one with the most reason for crying?”

The ugly sob that tore past her throat was her retort. She didn’t even know when she began crying, but whenever it was, it was shameful, to say the least.

"…For what little time we have left, I dedicate every second to you."

"…Me too…" She pulled herself away from the embrace, brushing her dampened face with her sleeves. "Let’s make the most of it."

~

When they met Morgan, she responded with glee.

"We had a son. In the future. We had a son." She repeats the fact to him that night, while the boy was in bed. "In an alternate plane of existence— one where I had my memories and we were on conflicting nations, we somehow still managed to love one another. And we had a son."

"Good for us."

"I—" She didn’t understand how he could be so sullen at a time like this. For them to be able to have had a child under such discordant circumstances— "Oh." Robin had never shifted from happiness to sadness quite as fast before. "Oh no, no, _no_.”

Even if they had such a wonderful child in another world, what good would that be in a world where she was gone?

In that moment, her world fell to pieces.

       Yet, even with all that taken into consideration, her resolve was not shaken.

"Oh Gods. Gangrel, please…"

"Bah. Save your breath. You want me to make sure the boy doesn’t grow up a bastard, right? As I am right now, I can hardly be considered a father." He said. "But I will become one… for him, even if you’re not there to witness it."

"…Thank you."

       And, somehow, even when it was in pieces, the world continued to spin.


	4. 004. Compliment (07/2014)

Gangrel greeted her every day sometimes with a present in hand, but always with a tongue coated in sugar. 

It was mildly disconcerting at first—admittedly more so for Chrom than for herself—but Robin soon became accustomed to it. She never had to work her schedule around him, thankfully, as he always came at opportune times and only bantered with her lightly if she was busy. It was refreshing to see him actually attempt to interact with someone. He developed the nasty habit of acting flippantly on and off the battlefield, and this in conjunction with his colorful past made him seem like an undesirable person to interact with. And even if someone managed to get past this initial obstacle, he evaded and ignored all those who approached him. 

The one thing that did grate on Robin’s nerves about his visits was how the formal monarch would praise her on whatever she was doing no matter how mundane the task may be. According to Gangrel, nobody had _quite_ the same expertise as her when it came to sharpening blades or stirring broth; there was no one in the Shepherds anywhere near as dedicated as their _oh_ so valiant and wonderful tactician. 

Fearful that he would give up on the idea of interaction entirely if she dismissed his claims, Robin always responded with a quiet and patient smile. There were a million things she could say to the contrary, though. When it came to essential tasks like these and the dedication it took to do them without fail, Cordelia and Frederick were both always at the ready. Lon’qu had a better touch than she did when it came to grindstone, and Stahl was as skilled at making food as he was at eating it. 

One evening she had somehow sunk into a bout of irritation. It wasn’t by any means something she tended to do, but in between the growing battles with the Risen, she found little time to sleep and little relief for her weary mind. She had never been a morning person, and as she felt as though the morning grog never left her, her mood had dampened drastically. 

It was precisely in such a mood that she didn’t want to see Gangrel, but he never failed to show up and today was no exception. 

“Yooh _oooo_ , tactician!” He approached her with a little spring in his step. 

She hoped that he would understand her ill state of mind and leave without contest, “Evening, Gangrel.” 

“And what are you up to today?” He paused here, as one would when solving a particularly difficult riddle. “Surveying the perimeters for evildoers? Why, of course, you have the sense to—” 

She interjected before his tongue got away from him, “No. I should hope I don’t encounter more enemies while I’m taking a walk.” 

An odd sort of silence fell between them. Robin had little to say and Gangrel seemed to be evaluating what he had just dipped his hands into. Hoping that he would adopt some tact and leave her be, Robin began to wander off, but Gangrel didn’t fall behind and chased after her shadow. 

“What has fouled your mood so? Perhaps I can put a blade through it—figuratively or otherwise, gwee hee…” He easily caught up to her side despite her quickened steps. “…A frown doesn’t suit you. It’s bad for your complexion, you know--well, with a face as charming as yours, a wrinkle or two will not subtract an iota from your grace.” 

She sighed, “Spare me, Gangrel. Your words fall on deaf ears.” 

Again, he had that bemused I-should-tread-carefully look, “Do they?” 

“You spew praise left and right without any bearing of what you’re really saying. I am no king, and you are not my subject.” Robin held a firm belief that the trickster’s behavior was adapted from how his subjects once treated him, and there was little to prove her wrong. “Your mindless flatteries are no compliments to my person.” 

She _was_ right. He was far more accustomed to the groveling of his subjects than he was to being treated as an equal. Unlike her, however, he actually felt a pang of superficial pride whenever his ego was tickled, and until now, he mistook her silent smile as a positive response to his praise. 

“I still believe you to be very capable.” Gangrel suddenly said. The statement only seemed to seem the frown spread further on Robin’s countenance, but he explained himself none too patiently, “Hear me out, tactician, before _you_ end up being the one putting a blade through _me_. I cannot cook. I cannot identify one herb from another. I had people do these tasks—tasks I once thought were menial and worthless—for me, and now I am a turd with little to no capabilities outside of battle. You cannot deny that you are far more capable and talented than I am, at the very least. And I can _guarantee_ you have more skills under your belt than any of the other subjects in this army. Can’t I then praise you not because you excel at everything, but because you are capable of doing many things?” 

Some people might question—no, some people _definitely_ question _ed_ —how it was possible for Gangrel to become king. Though she had already read up on his ascension to the throne, it was only somewhat supplementary to her understanding of how he got so far. It was quite easy to understand, really. Even now, the man still had the habit of lapsing into such speeches, and although he lacked tact, he had both the rousing charisma and the proper diction to stir the exact emotions he wanted to excite. 

At some point of him speaking, she had folded her arms defensively. Halfway through, she had unfolded them and adopted a thinking pose instead and the brows that were furrowed up until this point had lightened considerably. Behind her hand, which she hoped covered her slight smile, she contemplated his words.

“You have made your point.” she concurred after much thought. It wasn’t arrogance or a lack of humility that led her to agree. Perhaps it had something to do with her exalted blood or experiences in her past, but she was undeniably the most adaptable unit in Chrom’s army. The amount of skills she gathered up until now was no meager accomplishment, and she did take a fair amount of pride in it. 

“But you underestimate yourself.” Robin shifted her hand away to gesticulate. “You speak as though you have no merits, and while you may have made some terrible decisions in the past, you still have all the qualities of a king. Returning to Plegia is definitely a feasible task for you.” 

Gangrel looked mighty pleased by this. His usual grin seemed to have grown twice its size. 

She chose to end the conversation before he broke into a winded speech about his plans for the future, “…Just the same, I won’t stand for anymore flattery.” 

“Gya ha ha! Now there’s that smile! Worry not, Robin. You have my word.” 

                              ...He didn’t stay very true to his word, however. 


	5. 007. Work (01/2014)

The Ylissean Shepherds had the reputation of being the most close-knit army in all the realms, but Gangrel didn’t quite believe it until he found himself in the midst of them.

He was willing to bet a large amount of bullion that any one of them would have been eager to bend over and help buckle up one another’s boots when asked—except, naturally, he was the sole exception to this. There was a rule—an unsaid rule, but one that was upheld almost unconditionally—to not speak at lengths with the man who killed their beloved leader’s sister. Yet, a few of them still tried to connect with him.

The Exalt’s little sister, who ignored him for a fortnight after his recruitment, turned around one day with a bright smile and suddenly said that she forgave him. To that, he bumptiously remarked that he didn’t need her forgiveness. He was beyond caring once she stomped away venomously.

Another one of them, the knight with the messy hair who devoured his food every evening like it was his last meal, tried to get along with him, but to no avail. Still, Gangrel had to applaud the man’s tenacity. Every few nights, the knight still tried to track him down, but the trickster was always a few steps faster.

He appreciated solitude above all else—mingling when death hung over his head had as much point as drinking once he was sated.

There was one _teensy_ problem, though. While he saw no use in making bonds, the woman who dictated his every move on the battlefield thought otherwise. “Strength in bonds” and what not—it all seemed like cow dung to him.

His inability to work with others seemed to splinter the tactician internally. She paired him up with a different person every battle, hoping to find a person who he could work with. The constant shifting was a confusing hindrance until a few nights ago, when he overheard her speaking to someone in her tent. Now, mind you, skulking around the tactician’s tent at night wasn’t a habit of his, but he quickly learned that whomever he was paired up with last always reported back to her, and the next unlucky sap to be his partner didn’t trail far behind.

“Alright. Let’s have it.” Robin stated exasperatedly. “What happened?”

Sully, the last person to attempt to stand at his side, scoffed, “Damn tyrant charged in there like it’s nobody’s business. You see these nicks in my armor? They sure as hell weren’t there yesterday!” She stomped once, as if to further emphasize her frustration, but the soldier wasn’t done chiding him quite yet, “Look, I get that you call the shots and I do the stabbing, but why bother? Telling someone to work with him is asking them if they want to lose their head. I say if the bastard wants to die that badly, just let him work alone.”

A brief silence was then punctuated by a sigh, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

 _That’s that,_ Gangrel concluded. With nothing left to do, he retired to his own tent for the night.

~

As per usual, Robin preferred to plan out their battles when she had the option to. A group of shepherds gathered around the meeting table. Spread on top of it was a carefully labeled map of the area, and little, wooden figures of every Shepherd.

“Chrom, Olivia and you will offer Sully and Stahl support once they reach this point.” As she spoke, her pointer finger pushed the tiny figures across the table to rest right under a flag.

“Understood.”

“Gangrel…” She picked up the game piece that represented him. “…Are you listening?”

The crown he had been twirling around his finger came to a rest and slid down the digit into his palm. He was fully prepared to sit this battle out—or better yet, be sent in on his own. “I hear you loud and clear, tactician.”

“We,” she placed him right next to her own figure, “will flank the enemies from the right.” The incredulous look on his face must have been easily read because Robin quickly stated, “I imagine the slippery footing is no problem for you?”

He situated his crown back on his head and his grin in its rightful place, “…What do you take me for, hm? A common thief? I may be mountains below where I once was but do keep in mind what I’m capable of.”

The woman smiled, “We’ll see if your feet live up to your tongue.”


	6. 009. Strings (08/2013)

In the years following Gangrel’s downfall, time became a disposable resource for him. There was little to do in Chrom’s army and even less to do when he realized he had no purpose. A man of his age had no reason to practice how to swing a blade when he’s done it countless times before. You can’t teach an old dog a new trick, and he’s learned all the skills he could learn from his profession. With training out of the way, the fallen king spent most of his time wandering about or exchanging a few words of idle banter with anyone he found loitering in the barracks.

More often than not, he was the one lollygagging in the barracks and festering like an unwanted sore.

Finding his day particularly uninteresting, he attempted to coax nighttime into coming faster by pacing around. Much to his delight, the sound of footsteps approaching indicated that he would no longer be companionless.

“Ah, Robin, “ he gave his most charming smile, “and here I thought I'd be stuck here alone tonight.”

The tactician responded with a smile of her own, “Gangrel? My, I didn’t think you were the type to stay up so late.”

“Late? Bah! It’s hardly past supper time.” It must have been a solid three hours since they ate, but that didn’t count as ‘late’ in his judgment “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well…” Robin mulled in silence, weighing in her mind whether or not she should tell him. “… I always wound up here when I’m lonely.”

“You? _Lonely_? What happened to all that nonsense about threads and strings?” The grin slapped on his face was a telltale sign that he was mocking her. “You know-- all that junk you spewed about friendship. I remember it made me sick to my stomach.”

A witty laugh gapped the brief silence between his words and hers, “You would still call these bonds ‘ _nonsense_ ’ even after they defeated you?”

“Who cares about the details? I imagined you could pull any one of them up if you were bored. Back in the old days, I only had to tap a foot and someone would be by my side.”

“Well, unlike you, I was never a queen. They’re my friends and equals-- I can’t just call for them on a whim.” Robin objected. “I would have to take their time into consideration.”

“What are a few minutes of wasted time between friends?”

“Er--” She thought for a good second before avoiding the suggestion with the grace of a log. “That’s beyond the point!” (He took a second to bask in his victory here, as miniscule as it may be.) “I mean I know they wouldn’t mind spending time with me, but I’m sure they would rather spend it with their loved ones.”

“Ho? Love during war? Bwa ha ha! What tomfoolery!” His laughter was raucous and deafening, especially since the walls of the tiny room seemed to amplify any sound. “Death meets us at every corner. Seems to me like they’re just BEGGING to have their hearts broken.”

The Ylissean shook her head, “Oddly enough, there’s a strategic advantage to all this that actually lowers the chance of death”

“Ho? Enlighten me.”

“People tend to fight better when they are closer to those they interact regularly with. Think of it like an invisible string that connects everyone to each other and strengthens them. By continuously interacting, they make the string stronger, and as the string gets stronger, they get stronger.” She spoke with the same authority she had during meetings, except there were no maps or wooden models of the soldiers to demonstrate what she meant, so she made exaggerated gestures on the table in front of her instead. “When they’re in the presence of someone they love, the thread is especially strong, so they do extra well. They’re more likely to defend each other from damage. Er… that isn’t to say they won’t defend anyone else, I just mean they’re more focused on each other because of the bond between them and more likely to notice when the other is in danger.” Having explained everything she could, she paused, “Take Chrom and Sumia for example, the two of them are an unstoppable force.”

The man spent the entire explanation picking at his nails and grunting in response.

“…You don’t believe me.” She ran a hand through her hair—why did she even try when it came to him?

“As perceiving as always! Bwa ha ha!”

“Hm. Of course you don’t understand. You spend most of your time running off on your own.”

In her first (planned) battle involving the former king, she was pleasantly surprised by Gangrel’s history as a thief. His ability to pick locks and open chests proved to be very useful. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if half of what’s in the convoy was a result of his plundering. The only problem was how he was so adamant about pillaging that he chose to deviate from the team just to do so.

“Gangrel, would you be interested in fighting by my side in the coming battle?” He directed his attention to her and quirked an amused brow. She threw up her hands defensively, “Just as a demonstration of how strings of bonds can make you stronger.”

“… Just that? How disappointing! For a moment there, you sent my heart all aflutter. Gya ha ha ha! All right, you have yourself a deal, milady, just don’t drag me down.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“ _Gya ha ha!_ ”


	7. 018. Brood (01/2014)

It all began with an innocent inquiry. 

“Mother,” Morgan said, “if I wanted to get closer to someone I respect, how would I go about doing it?” 

Robin pressed a thoughtful finger to her chin and answered with something she would soon regret, “Follow their footsteps—try imitating them, you can usually learn a lot through imitation.” 

After leaving a quick ‘thank you’ in his wake, Morgan ran off giddily, and Robin thought nothing of it. 

Following that conversation, Morgan began to spend more time with his father. A few hours before dinner everyday, he made sure to find Gangrel, wherever he was. 

While Gangrel didn’t appreciate this new habit, he slowly realized that it was inevitable, and Morgan would stop at nothing once he set his mind on something. So, reluctantly, the trickster began to let the boy butt in on his affairs. It was a behavior that was oddly reminiscent to Robin of how Gangrel used to latch onto her everyday, though it was questionable whether Gangrel noticed or not. 

One evening, Robin joined the two for a walk, and for some reason, Morgan was toddling _behind_ them. 

“Don’t you want to walk side-by-side?” Robin asked and Morgan immediately responded by shaking his head. 

Gangrel snorted, “Bah, don’t waste your breath. I asked him the exact thing several nights ago and he refused every time.” 

Despite the minor occurrence, they continued their walk, but perhaps Morgan followed a bit _too_ enthusiastically, for he tripped suddenly with a surprised ‘oof’. Luckily, Gangrel grabbed his hood just in time, saving him from landing on his nose, “Careful, son, if you want to follow us any closer than you do now without walking at our side, you’ll have to cling to my leg.” 

As he regained his footing, the boy cracked a smile, “Good one, father, _gyA HA HA_!” 

The tome Robin was holding fell right out of her hands. Her mind rushed back to the conversation she had forgotten about, and she realized just then why Morgan had been so insistent in literally following in his father’s footsteps. 

For a split second, Gangrel’s eyes went wide, but then his lips began to widen into a smirk and he answered with a boisterous laugh of his own, to which Morgan, spurred on by the positive reaction, tried to match in volume. 

“Oh gods,” she pressed her hand to her temple. There was no fixing this one. 

  
~  


The very next day, Chrom barged into her tent, “ ** _ROBIN_**.” 

_Here we go_ , she sighed. After witnessing his reaction to her engagement to Gangrel, and then the discovery of Morgan, she dreaded seeing how he would react to this. “What’s wrong, Chrom?” 

“Morgan! Gangrel?” Chrom gestured about wildly with every name he uttered, but he failed to elaborate. 

“What do you mean?” 

Morgan, who happened to be passing by, suddenly lifted the flap and waved, “Good morning mother! Good morning Chrom! _Gya ha ha_!” 

And just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone. Chrom swung his arm to point at where the offender had been. 

“... Alright," she sighed once more, "you’ve made your case. I’ll talk to him about it.” 

… At least, that was what she said, but knowing Gangrel, he would encourage this behavior just to get on the Exalt's nerves.

And honestly, she didn't have the heart to tell Morgan to stop. 


	8. 046. Wait (11/2013)

“Bah. She had a brain atop her shoulders and talent in her fingers. Was a mighty fine plegian…” An amused snort interrupted his drunken statement. "Dethroning me and killing their god aside.”

Morgan smiled, “I’m not sure about all that, father, but she was a great person.”

The trickster took a long swig from his mead before he slammed his cup on the table with a loud harrumph. While the sudden noise would have been enough to make Olivia jump right out of her dress, Morgan continued to read his book undisturbed.

Everyone had different ways of going about Robin’s untimely disappearance. Drinking himself into a stupor was how Gangrel chose to handle his grief. Morgan engulfed himself in his mother’s old tomes and books, planning to best his mother by the time she returned. Some simply moved on with their lives, promising Chrom to alert him if they found the tactician during their travels. Some remained with the prince, who disguised his search for Robin as part of his Exalt duties, traveling across the continent and fighting off any wrongdoers he encountered, then asking if anyone saw someone with plegian robes passing through--“ _possibly_  with no recollection of anything”.

Out of pity, and as some sort of favor for Robin, Chrom took Gangrel and Morgan along with him. They were her family, and he thought they should be the first to be alerted when she was found. Besides, Chrom didn’t even want to know what Gangrel would do if the Exalt took his eyes off of him for too long. The fallen king would probably get himself stuck in another tree while he was drunk.

“Yeesh… Sacrificing herself--lot of good that will do." He rambled in his son's general direction. "That daunting dragon won't end up slaughtering your children's grandchildren one thousand years from now, but who's to say they won't just die in some other war?" He paused to down the rest of his drink. "I say we should have let that dragon live. Surely, preparing for the fell dragon's second revival would have aided my descendants in building some character.”

Morgan looked up from his reading with wide, curious eyes, "But, father, what if they died trying to fight her?"

"Then they aren't worthy of my blood!"

"If mother was here, I'm sure she would have come up with an argument."

Gangrel hummed in amusement. He could see it clearly: her look of clear disapproval, her tone like a worried mother. These gesticulations were engraved somewhere in his mind.

These sittings were how they chose to pass the time while waiting for Robin's return.

The first time Morgan joined Gangrel in his drunken reveries, the boy didn't bring a book. He simply tried to converse with his father in an attempt to rekindle any relationship they  _might_ have had in the future. Still, it was clear that his mother’s absence strained their relationship. His attempts to grasp a topic was awkward at best, and often times Gangrel had very little to say in return, but Morgan was optimistic and stubborn, like his mother, and kept at it. Eventually, the boy discovered that his father talked on his own when he had enough to drink and when someone was there to listen, so he brought a book to pass the silence.

Morgan fingered the corner of the page he was on, eyes wandering across the dining quarters. Every few days he asked the same question, “How much longer do you think we have to wait?”

“Doesn’t matter. I have the rest of my life to wait.” The same answer as always, although this time Gangrel placed his empty cup down.

A gibing grin was Morgan's reply, “...Hopefully while there’s still mead to celebrate with.”


	9. 005. Glass (07/2015)

Gangrel was a brutal combination of straightforwardness and tactlessness. As such, Robin often felt as though she was walking on an extremely thin sheet of glass with him performing his usual acrobatics right next to her and threatening to plummet the two of them straight into oblivion. She started to think it was more likely for her to die from a heart attack than it was for her to be killed in the midst of battle. 

She didn’t think she had to _explicitly_ tell Gangrel their engagement should be kept secret, but it quickly became apparent the day Chrom approached her for advice. As usual, the former king was nearby, inspecting his sword patiently as he waited for Chrom to leave. 

Upon finishing his consultation, Chrom turned to ask him, “Is there a reason you attach yourself so often to Robin?” 

Gangrel immediately grinned and said, “I wager it’s the same reason you attach yourself to _your_ spouse—” 

“— _On second thought,_ ” Robin blurted, sliding herself into the conversation before Chrom had time to process what was said, “let’s think on this a little more.” 

After she talked Chrom through one big circle and he left with a puzzled expression on his face, she lectured Gangrel on why their engagement should _not_ be public knowledge--unless he wanted to wind up facing the sharp ends of half the Shepherd’s weaponry. 

Gangrel was very sour about this, and he did little to hide it. 

“What good is an engagement if the entire realm doesn’t know?” He whined. “Bah! You recall the women I left ‘widowed’? Every single one of them received a glorious feast _all_ of Plegia was invited to! And on our honeymoon…” 

Ah, there’s that tactlessness. Robin placed an impatient finger on his lips to silence him and spare her the details, but he gently pulled her hand away and said, “I know I no longer have a coin to my name, but shouldn’t the woman I _love_ get even more than they did?” 

…Gods _damn_ him and his silver tongue. For a moment (and just a _moment_ ), she faltered—the least she could do was grant the former king an announcement. 

But then she remembered his silver tongue was likely how he wound up marrying just about a dozen foolish women and she stood firm. No. No announcing _anything_ until the weight of the world was no longer hanging over Chrom’s head. 

Several months came and passed with them hunting down Risen and chasing Grima’s trail. They were _meticulous_ when it came to hiding their relationship. Robin charted out everybody’s schedule into the roster and Gangrel memorized it by heart. With his history, sneaking around was hardly a challenge. He went into her tent in the evenings when no one was looking and left before Cordelia or Frederick woke. 

Nobody knew—until the day Lucina barged into her tent yelling about a nearby village under attack while the two were in a very compromising position. 

What excuse could she _possibly_ come up with to explain why he had his hand on her breast? Gangrel made no effort to extract his hand and even _dared_ to click his tongue, turn and say, “Do you mind?” 

With reddened cheeks, Lucina directed her gaze to the ground and hissed, quietly, “Get dressed _immediately_!” 

Two quickly dressed individuals and one saved village later, Robin chased down Lucina, her tongue wagging faster than she could think, “Lucina… a-about what you saw. Gangrel and I… we’re, uh, _engaged_.” 

“I know.” Lucina said. 

“You know?” Robin parroted. “How long have you known?” 

“You and… _him_ ,” she said the word with a certain amount of hesitation that Robin didn’t fail to catch, “got married in my timeline as well.” 

“Oh…. then, thank you for not telling Chrom.” 

“It’s not just for your sake—I’m thinking of father, as well.” Lucina said, cringing slightly. “I don’t even want to _think_ what he would do if he finds out you are marrying the man that killed his sister.” 

Frankly, neither did Robin. 

\--- 

It was almost funny (but not _really_ ) how the situation almost repeated itself not even a week later. But _this_ time, the camp was the location being attacked, and it was Chrom himself barging into their tents unannounced, yelling for them to prepare for battle. 

_This_ time, Gangrel’s hand had travelled a little further down, just past her navel. 

Again, Gangrel dared to click his tongue and turn to the intruder. But _this_ time, he grinned from ear to ear and said, “ _Oopsie_.” 

Robin squinted at him. The _bastard_. He had been waiting for this. 

There was a loud choking sound that came from Chrom’s throat. His eyes went so wide Robin feared they would never revert to its original size. Despite choking on his own tongue, he managed to sputter, “ ** _Robin?!_** ” 

That was the moment the Risen attacked. 

Two not- _quite_ -as-dressed individuals and a somewhat pacified camp later, Chrom chased the two of them down, falchion still unsheathed. 

She swore all the Shepherds were watching, though only _some_ of them pieced together why Gangrel and her were the _only_ ones in such drastic states of undress. 

Having had little time to dress, Robin didn’t wear her usual cloak and Gangrel had only his pants on. Frankly, that probably did little to help their predicament: a seething Exalt who looked ready to reopen the fading scars on Gangrel’s torso. 

“ _Explain._ ” Chrom hissed. 

The half-naked man turned to look at Robin at the same time she turned to look at him. Realizing not even her quick thinking could get them out of this and remembering his vow of silence, Gangrel said nothing and started smiling. He faced Chrom and readied his Levin sword. 

“Stand down!” Robin whispered harshly, but he just started laughing. 

The Shepherds watching burst into animated chatter. 

“Ooh, a fight! Hey, hey. Not that I’m not excited about potential bloodshed, but what’s happening?” Henry, definitely. 

“Gregor is thinking this is bad idea.” Gregor. 

“Kick his flabby old gray _ass_!” Sully, probably. 

“Robin and… Oh, I think I’m going to be sick.” Lissa? Who really knew at this point. 

Robin saw Lucina standing in the distance, tense and seemingly also searching for a solution out of this. Some of the more excitable members were starting to gather around the soon-to-clash duo. Basilio seemed to be starting a bet that was overwhelmingly in Chrom’s favor. From the looks of it, Aversa was already happily planning Gangrel’s funeral. 

Chrom took a step forward. 

Oh, to _hell_ with this. 

Robin said, so loud and commanding that her voice rose above the chaos, “I am marrying Gangrel.” 

And the glass they were treading so carefully simply _shattered_. She just sent the two of them straight into oblivion and she didn’t even care—not anymore. At least Gangrel found it amusing enough to lower his blade, though that was mostly because he was practically keeling over with laughter. 

Chrom was choking again. “R-Robin?!” 

“Oh, don’t give me that.” She said, exasperated. “I love him.” 

“ _Gya ha ha!_ ” 

That was all Gangrel did before he scooped her into his arms and kissed her, as if to prove her words were true. 

It was the final, critical hit to Chrom’s psyche. The poor man wordlessly tucked his sword away and returned to his tent, Gangrel’s laughter trailing behind him. He remained there for an entire day. 

Afterwards, the Shepherds all found unique ways to express their disapproval: Tharja attempted to curse Gangrel several times, Libra made every effort to pray for Robin’s soul, and Frederick’s already terrifying glare seemed to intensify a hundred times more. 

It would take weeks before Chrom could even talk to Robin without suddenly lapsing into silence, eyes unfocused as he briefly revisited what he saw the two do in her tent. For the most part, he pretends that the two aren’t even acquainted or that Gangrel didn’t exist-- _anything_ to deny what actually existed between the two. 

That wasn’t to say they all reacted unfavorably. Some kept neutral stances while others proved to be fairly accepting. Gangrel was simply content that he no longer had to keep the engagement under wraps, though Robin wasn’t sure how she felt about him now displaying his affection so publicly. 

This was a story Gangrel would fondly retell for years to come, often focusing on Chrom’s crestfallen face if the Exalt was in the audience. 


	10. 010. 100 Words (12/2016)

When he took her hand in his, he would swallow the Mark of Grima in his grasp. Just for that moment, with their hands intertwined and him mumbling quips into her hair, Robin felt as though she could rise above it all.  
But whenever he let go, the mark remained.

It was the accursed hand that killed Grima. She watched the mark fade with her being.

Gangrel seized her hand again--  
It was gone.  
She had won.

“Robin,” He does not hesitate. “I love you.”

She sobbed, “And I, you.”

Then he was holding nothing.

Morgan’s cries trailed his silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I can pretend that I will ever finish all 50 prompts like I intended to.
> 
> I've never had confidence in my writing or my characterization or anything, in fact. Still, Gangrel/Robin was a special ship to me. The protagonist / antagonist dynamic slays me and the thought of the two actually being a ship that existed and a ship that other people enjoyed as well... that really gave me strength in the past. It helped me through some dark times.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I had a great time writing all of this, although I find some of it to be cringeworthy when I look back. It was fun. Thank you.


End file.
